BOOK V Saga, THE KISS, by R M Simone'
by Roshandra
Summary: "V" is a rare immortal. Born into a royal vampire bloodline mansion in Paris, France, he is about to come upon his KISMET love at his uncle's Swan Masquerade Ball. Set in the mid 1700's, the story is about vampires BORN that way and carry secrets in their blood codes. The saga begins with an Atlantis history to vampires and across timelines. "V" meets his Beloved in Book 1.


BOOK V Saga, The kiss by R. M. SIMONE, AUTHOR

 _COPYRIGHT© 2010 R. '_

 _Original 'manuscript 2008-2009' MAY NOT BE COPIED OR REPRODUCED._

 _Roshandra Micael Simone'_

 _R. M. Simone'_

 _March 17, 2010_

 _All rights reserved may not be copied, digitally copied or printed without Written Permission from Author, R. M. Simone/Roshandra Simon/ Roshandra Micael Simone'_

 _ISBN:_

 _ISBN-_ _9781329056220_

 _A DIFFERENT KIND OF VAMPIRE STORY._

 _The Kiss, The Mist, The Reborn_

 _PLUS novella Alleandrea, His Beloved AND The Epistolary novella_

 _ORGINAL SAGA FROM R. M. Simone_

1 CHAPTER

THE KISS

 _Her face never left him._

 _Her eyes… her mouth…_

 _Her stares into the depth of his Soul._

 _She was always with him and he would not stop 'til he found her again. Since he never slept, he knew his constant dreaming of her was his penance for what he did. He Loved her so much and in that his pain was beyond what a human could handle. Her scent carried him through his pain and he endured his Dreams._

 _Visions of Her were always on his Mind._

 _He was, after all, a vampire._

 _If a vampire had a heart, this is where it would rest. His heart was with hers and so he bore his pain 'til'his love was in his arms again._

 _This time Forever._

 _Messages from…_ _ **V**_

 _Respectfully To his BeLoved._

 _A Page from 'his Journal' Diary…_

 _The Pain began…_ _as it was never far from my thoughts._

 _The heart that was there was_ _one of a vampire. It throbbed as if it was beating each everlasting moment for only her touch again. That spot that was so empty. The heart was hers. The heart of a vampire has no sunlight in it, but it was with her and knowing her that the soul of such dark sorrow began to shine. It was because of 'her', the pain began. Pain was there and only 'til her love entered that empty cavern of this heart did the knowing of the pain begin to torment and unearth the death of this soul. Being born a Vampire of royal lineage meant nothing more than a privileged long life, an existence of eternity without meaning or purpose. Vampires that are born are well aware of how they must live and be in society and educated. Endless hours of lifetimes all strung together like black pearls. Until one thing occurs that changes the feeling of nothingness into the moment of something. Her 'Love' was all that could quench this thirst and this endless pain. How could this one Exquisite White Pearl change all of the darkness to the light? Love for her was the turning point of this Existence._

 _Nothing else mattered anymore, only her Love._

 _Finding her again_

 _C_ _onsumed me..._ _Respectfully, V_

 _Date ~ May19 th, 1776, Paris, France ~_

 _The Night of the soul… if a vampire has one…_

 _The Kiss_

 _ **Upon the Silver tray sat**_

 _ **The Invitation and**_

 _ **The Red Wax Seal with the Dragon.**_

 _A small gold box accompanied the envelope tied with a black ribbon._

 _He opened the letter._

 _You are cordially invited to the Night of Masks…Of The Swans._

 _My Dearest nephew, I know another 'Ball' … as it is the season and the Mansion will look wonderful. We do expect to see you and it would be 'my great hope ', as your Uncle, 'that you might enjoy a night of Immortals and humans. We have some fascinating guests that just might be of interest to you son … I promise to invite your doctor friend also and your Mum shall not be attending. That might brighten the opportunity of my seeing you._

 _Fondly your Uncle… Armand Deveraux Athanase'_

The invitation was returned to the silver tray and left there opened. I loosened the ribbon on the gold box and opened it. A Venetian gold mask with silk ribbons sat there in gold paper staring at me. A mask for the ball and I was sure in the colors of the evening. My hand reached for it. It had a small black tear on one side and a small black heart on the other side with exquisite artistry. I looked at it as it looked at me. My uncle's good taste came with his sense of humor. His special 'touches' revealed a small painted swan on a card. The mask dangled from my hand as I slowly walked up the spiral mansion staircase to my suite. A shroud of silence washed over me. My body moved up these stairs in grace and a well known cadence. The mansion was built in the architecture of the time and beautifully appointed in all details. The stairs spoke of history here and for me of this mundane walk of my many years living in this mansion. It was expected of me to attend balls and social gatherings of my Royal lineage. I walked past all the images of my ancestry and family. Every detail was well thought out with vignettes of the times. My hand reached for the door knob of my suite and I quietly walked into my rooms. Nothing drew me to socialize. The art and wealth surrounding this rich existence drew me neither. My journals gave me pleasure and the history of witnessing. I knew this ball was not going to be avoided and so my body walked over to the tall draped windows of my room to gather myself. The garden below shimmered in moon time waxing. Oh, how the moon gave me movement and desire to write. My desk table held quill and ink and my current leather bound journal. I looked over my personal quarters and wished to be elsewhere. My uncle expected my presence. After all, he was like a father to me and raised me in the countryside of France. The wine and flowers there filled my lungs and scents I long knew and wished to be there again. The journal was open and moonlight streamed into the room. I could only notice that and the inspiration washed over me. I walked over to my desk and sat down. I placed the gold mask there and left it to blankly stare back at me. This is how I felt. The mask blended itself into my French gold writing table. Leather topped and etched in gold and only my hands had touched. I dipped my quill into the ink and the moonlight guided me.

For my Beloved… _and so the night began._

 _Nothing else followed those three words. I stared at it as the mask stared at me. I smiled. Why would I begin my new journal with those words?_


End file.
